Red
by midnight glade
Summary: "The world went red, a strange sort of scarlet, edged roughly with sharp tipped patterns, swirling words she couldn't read." A harsh look into life in a Mord'Sith temple...


Hmm, my first dive into Legend of the Seeker fan fiction…I think it turned out kinda well. Not exactly how I wanted it but…well lol. Anyway, it's kinda dark. And I thought, for my first fic, I should do something easyish. I can't really write the main characters well enough to do anything on them yet but…I may take requests lol. That means easy ideas XD.

I based this on the book as well as the show. Personally I like the show better but…yeah. And I tried to say true to canon. I wanted to explore the side of the Mord Sith that is tortured, and this was what I came up with. The first, last and some or the middle lines were my starting points and it grew from there.

Yeah, sorry if it completely fails but…here we go. Please review XD.

Red

* * *

When the pain hit her, she screamed.

And the world went red, a strange sort of scarlet, edged roughly with sharp tipped patterns, swirling words she couldn't read.

Hot and cold, fire and ice, it was like a crimson red sunrise, eclipsing the blue surrounding it, leaving the tips staining the sky even as it faded. And it felt like an age, an age of blood and fire and ash, and who was there to tell her otherwise? So, for a thousand years she sat there, writhing in pain and horror and fear. And for a thousand years the other girls watched. And for a thousand years the torturer smiled. But then the pain lessened, and she felt it begin to fade, but it was like a wound left open.

And seeing the looks on the other girls faces she knew that she had not been there for an age. How could horror bruise their faces for that long and still survive?

The woman straightened and smiled.

"Anyone else want to go home?"

Home? Had that been what she had wanted? The girl frowned in confusion and thought and strained and- and remembered. It all suddenly flowed through her in a blaze of images and sounds, a house in a field of glowing green grass, filled with impossible things. But not impossible, because they seemed like the only things that could be real, and this was all _not_, because Mother wasn't here and Father wasn't here and neither was Friends or Sisters. And she didn't want to stay, in the dark and cold and fire, she wanted to go home…to the place of impossible things. Where there were hugs were and the smiles that didn't bite cold and words that seemed almost like songs. Where the trees whispered…where water danced.

But that didn't stop her from shaking her head along with the others, just in case, eyes fixed on the red (fire, scarlet, pain) object the woman held almost leisurely. She didn't care that it was a lie, and she knew you weren't supposed to tell lies, she would know the truth, so it was fine, right?

"Good."

The woman drawled the word, savouring it softly, dragging the syllables out. And it almost made the girl feel guilty for obeying her, but it also filled her with relief that the woman wasn't angry.

"Good."

And still she thought of Home. And the tears welled in her eyes before she harshly blinked them away, fear surging through her at the thought of the pain again, trying not to look guilty. Memories so clear and fresh blazed themselves in her mind, clear and bold, and with a second of dawning horror…

She wondered how she could ever have forgotten.

* * *

The woman in red came to collect her the next day.

The girl had no idea how long she had been in the cave, with the darkness and rock and the drip, drip. And when the woman knelt in front of her, eyes curiously cold, and told her to come with her, the girl didn't know whether to obey. There was something…scary about the way she smiled, the way her eyes glittered, but then the leather creaked as she shifted and the girls eyes flickered to the long, thin red (fire, scarlet, pain) rod at her side, and she scrambled to her feet.

Turning on her heel, the woman in red walked briskly out of the cave, and, after a moments hesitation, the girl followed.

The rock softened with dirt, the drip, drip of water faded, the shuffling of the other girls ceased, and the darkness brightened into light as the girl crossed out of the cave. Eyes blinked away spots of colour, and the world looked the same. It looked the _same_. Same trees, same sky, same grass. And the girl was baffled, but then the woman hoisted her up onto a horse, and she remembered the pain and stopped thinking for a moment…for a while.

It was only when the woman in red took her down off the horse and guided her to a plain room that she began to fidget, began to remember Home again (but that was dangerous and stupid and she should really stop _right now_).

"Now." the woman in red told her, voice soft but edged with steel. "I want you to call me Mistress."

And the girl looked up at her with confused eyes, a question there, the other woman hardly said anything at all, what should I do?

The strike hit her cheekbone. And pain exploded as she fell to the floor; different than before. It still spat and hissed of fire and ash but it flared with more pain. More agony. More pain and burning…burning. She screamed, like she had used to at the beginning, before she had learned. But then she was being pulled up by her hair, looking into solid eyes, gasping for breath. And then the red (fire, scarlet, pain) rod was held in front of her.

"No screaming."

And then it was plunged to the top of her chest, a little below her neck, a little above her heart, and held there. But she couldn't…she screamed and screamed and cried and wept but she _couldn't _get away. She felt the fire burn through her veins. She felt the woman push harder. Heard her harshly spit.

"You hesitated today, hesitated to follow me…no more. You will call me Mistress and you will do as I say…understand?"

The words ripped their way into the girls mind, shredding something to ribbons, and the pain swirled through her, turning the world red, patterns and words swirling. They looked strange, cut sharply like a blade but chiselled roughly out of scarlet. And she couldn't understand what they meant; couldn't read them. But fear twisted in her gut, cold, and she tried to push it away. To tell herself this wasn't happening. But it would not _leave_, that feeling of panic that was there and the pain that wouldn't stop and she was not Home and she was going to die because the woman in red was going to _kill _her and-

"Yes Mistress."

A tilt of the head. The pain stopped. "Hesitating again are we?"

There was no time to think, no time to consider, no time to feel anything but the fire.

"No Mistress."

But after she spoke the fear came back, and the crimson sunset was still fading, and the rod was still in her sight. She had been told about these women…told they were bad and to stay away. Why? Why did they hurt her? And maybe it was because she had been bad, like her mother said when she broke things by accident, or was late home, and maybe _she _had _hurt _these women. Maybe her mother just wanted to protect her…maybe that was why she hadn't told her _why _she should stay away from these women.

When the woman struck her again, her theory is confirmed.

It hurts more than before, hard and like liquid fire flowing through her blood, and she falls again. The woman doesn't help her up. And the pain comes with another strike and another and another. And she smells the blood, and she sees it staining her red. The pain holds at her arm. And it felt like an age, an age of black skies and knifes and burning. Her skin melts of her bones, her hands are scraped raw…and then it happens again…to another her, one that is whole but needs to be skinned like the rest. More screaming. More sobbing. And she feels like she's dying and dying and drowning in a river of lava and she can never be whole again, never _think _or feel or _be_-

Fading, fading…

The sunset again.

Tear-filled eyes stare up and up, cold steel eyes stare down, down.

* * *

Hmmm?

What is that the girl hears?

Things go foggy…images flash. A house, a Home, with green grass and filled with impossible things that used to be-

No. They never were.

And she doesn't understand some things she feels, or thinks she feels, and only knows the ice and fire. The burning and the twisting and-

She knows what she is…she has to make up for something…doesn't she?

She knows now what she did, knows what was so bad, so so bad, that made them take her and then cause the bur-

That made her bad.

She left her family. Her Sisters, the ones in red and brown and white, and shame fills her at the thought of it. And she can't remember _where _she had been taken too, can't really see the outside that she must have known. Once. And things seem to flow on forever….and she hopes that one day she can rejoin her Sisters. Not like _them_. The other girls. The ones that fail and then-

The room is plain. The door only one. And she wonders where else she has been. Because she knows that she wasn't always in this room…but she can't remember anything else. Except sometimes she sees flashes of smiles and fields and hears the whispering of trees and the words that sound like songs that came from her-

One door opens.

Mistress.

* * *

Mother?

Her Mother hung from the ceiling.

Wrists shackled above her, she was limp, with the limbs stained with red, scarlet, blood that was dry and cracked in places, obviously it had come from where the metal had chafed. Eyes half closed in exhaustion and agony. Hair limp and ragged.

It registers dimly.

She follows her Mistress.

And when the woman tells her to sit down on the chair that is in front of the Mother she does so. Horror seeps into the Mothers features, a look so white it pales her face, and then the pleading starts. And the girl hears 'don't make her watch this' and 'take her out of here' and 'creator help my daughter!'. The tone has a strange twang, laced with tears. And the girl doesn't understand, she has _never _cried, her Mistress never wanted her to. And how could she disobey her Mistress?

The red (fire, scarlet, pain) rod is in her Mistress's hand.

And then there is screaming.

And the girl doesn't know why but she wants to move, to run forward, to stop that _woman _from harming _her _Mother. But the fear is there too. And then she shakes herself, because she can't think that because she _must _obey her Mistress, her family, and this Mother is nothing to her and can never be because-

A breath. More screams.

The girl sits there; not understanding the eyes that the Mother gives her, those large sad eyes that peer and look. Something in them calls to her, some kind of familiarity, some kind of lo-

More screams.

Blood runs down in little rivers that, for some reason, the girl expects to dance, but they don't. And chapped lips almost seem to mouth words to her, words that she can't remember. Bruises appear on previously flawless skin, the girl notices absently, purple and yellow and then _black_. This shouldn't effect her, but for some reason it does, and she hides it. Because her Mistress would not want her to care.

But then another scream tears through the air and she thinks harshly that what that _woman _wants shouldn't matter so much.

The girl shoves that aside, sitting there as told, and almost cries at the thought of displeasing her Mistress, at the thought of going _against _her. Suddenly she realises that she is cold, that the room is as dark as (drip, drip) something she remembers. The chair is hard, stiff-backed, and the wood scratches. And her Mistresses long braid swings as she turns around, smiling as she sees the girl is still there, and the girls heart fills with happiness. Her Mistress is pleased.

A final scream.

Breath leaves her. The Mother and the girl. She sits there feeling numb and lost and like something _is _lost and gone and never coming back and it's awful and _terrible _and images of hugs and smiles flow through her mind laced with songs and _laughter_. And they are in her mind with such clarity that she almost stretches out to touch them and almost strains to hear them, but she can't and so she doesn't. Why did her Mother have to di-

"You did well."

The praise sets her smiling. "Thank you Mistress. I did it for you."

And the hit that follows is softer than before, the pain sweeter and less hot, and she knows that her Mistress is pleased. And she smiles through the bruise welling on her face, happy that her Mistress was showing her that she had done well. The next few hits are the same, soft with burning pain, fire through her veins. And the feeling she had felt before is numb in the back of her mind…maybe she'll think on it later. And then as the strikes fall, she thinks on her earlier thoughts when she wanted to dare try and save the Mother while _disobeying _her _Mistress _and, with dawning horror…

She wondered how she could ever have considered it.

* * *

It's him.

She looks to her Mistress for guidance and her Mistress nods. And then she turns back to the Father and raises the red (fire, scarlet, pain) rod in her hand and brings it crashing down.

He screams and screams and there is this _something _in his eyes that the Mother had.

But she doesn't look him in the eyes, somehow she can't, and somehow it feels wrong to cause him pain as she was caused pain. She knows how it feels, has felt the fire and the sunset, and she still has to fight to stop cringing away from its touch when the other Mistresses come by. Except, of course, when it's _her _Mistress wielding the rod, she would never cringe away from her Mistress. And her Mistress _ordered _her to kill this man…

So she does.

And it was supposed to be drawn out. So she drags it out…as her Mistress taught her.

She finds those points that cause the most burning, the most patterns, and rams the rod in her hand down onto them.

He screams.

And somehow it cuts through her. Somehow it hurts more that the rod in her hand. And so she hurts him more to dim the feeling…but it only makes it worse. And she thinks of something called Home…of a house in a field of green grass, with trees that whisper and a river that danced. Was she ever there? Maybe. Maybe not.

The last second; the last blow.

Straight to the heart. She doesn't hesitate. And when the light fades from wide, tortured eyes, she hears something shatter…

She doesn't know what it is.

* * *

She taller now.

Older, stronger…better.

And she smirks as she receives her leathers. Red, brown and white, they are all specifically made for her. She is Mord'Sith now; and she must protect her Lord Rahl.

She slips into them, carefully tying the various straps into place, pulling the thing over her curves, and the slipping on the gloves. Her hair is long and flowing and she braids it deftly, remembering how, just as her mistress taught her. Smirking at the thought of the woman who trained her, she pushes away the part that still calls her Mistress, remembering how it felt to drive the woman's own agiel into her heart. It had been after her warrior training, after she had found out that _Mord'Sith _were slaves to no one. They had been on a mission, just the two of them, and it had been near the end of her training, and the perfect time for her to strike. No one tortured _her_, owned _her_, and got away with it.

And she pushed away the memory of the proud smirk the mistress had given her.

Raising her agiel, she relishes the pain, lets it flow through her, world turning scarlet. Patterns edged sharply appear before her eyes, and she reads the words and images…those secret things that only her and her Sisters can ever know. Closing her eyes, she holds the red rod tighter and smiles at the increase in pain, the louder hum.

A knock at the door.

"Come in." her voice is soft but edged with steel.

A servant opens it, looking terrified, eyes fixed on the ground, head bowed. And she smirks, he is not Mord'Sith, this is how it should be. "The Lord requests your presence, the ritual with be done tonight."

Ah, the Breath of Life, finally.

After all these years she was finally joining her family (and again she pushed away that little house in the green field), her Sisters. And now she could protect her Lord, as she was supposed to, and prove that she had earned her leathers. So it is with excitement, not fear, Mord Sith do not feel afraid, that she turns to the mirror, examining the new her.

And the woman in red stares back at her.

She turns back to the servant, walking slowly towards him, and the agiel is at his throat before he can even take a step back. He screams and she looks him full in his agonised eyes. Lips twisting she tells him

"Remember to call me Mistress."

She pushes him towards the door, and then follows him out, closing it behind her. And as she flexes her fingers, the ones on the agiel, the weapon that she will use to bend others to her will, as things should be, she smiles.

Through her leather gloves; everything feels the same.

* * *

The Mistress gets a taste for torture.

That numb feeling her childhood gave her no longer bothers her. The icy fear is no longer anything worthy of her notice. Why should it be? Mord'Sith don't feel fear. _She _doesn't feel fear. And as she circles the man she is training, she lets herself gin at him, eyes calm as a peaceful day, but really she assess the points she would strike first. And she remembers her last mission, the one where she went to bring new girls to the temple to be part of her family…her Sisterhood. She thinks back to it in pride, they had gained eight suitable candidates and soon they would all be in training…her family would soon grow. _They _were home.

And sometimes she dreams of another Home, with a small house that was filled with laughter and hugs and words that seemed like songs. But she forgets those dreams as soon as she awakes.

Or maybe she doesn't?

The Mistress shrugs. It doesn't matter. And then drives her agiel into the man in front of her.

'This is all necessary,' she thinks, 'he does not know the things I do. Because neither did I. I'll teach him to read the patterns and words in the scarlet world.' And so she continues, teaching him that _she _is his Mistress and he must _obey, _with the only thing that has any meaning…pain. It's constant and real. It's crimson.

She doesn't care that his blood splatters her red leathers, that's fine, it proves she is going well…doing her job. This man is a threat to her Lord…he must be trained. He _must _be.

She sees his world turn red. Knows that an age is passing; knows the patterns he sees…and smiles even more.

And he screams and screams and screams.

She rolls her eyes.

She can't believe she ever made that same sound.

* * *

Ohh, and I do not own legend of the seeker. If I did…well, there would definitely be a season three and Richard would have his shirt of more often lol.

And he wouldn't have lost his magic. Grhh.


End file.
